Haunting Desires
by Insanely Me
Summary: Yassen Gregorvich, world known assassin, was drunk off his ass. Warnings: Slash, OOC


**I'm finally back! I've actually had this written forever, but I've been busy with the whole, 'I'm bi, and oh yeah, by the way, I'm an atheist!' thing with my parents. So… Yeah. My apologies.** Enjoy! ****

****Disclaimer- I don't own these characters. But I do own a fondness to this pairing******! ****Which totally counts.**

Yassen Gregorvich, world renowned assassin, was drunk off his ass. When the bar's owner had finally kicked him out, he was having trouble standing up without swaying.

Luckily, his apartment was only a short drunken walk away, and he got there without to much trouble.

After finding the right building, he fumbled with his keys for a moment before hearing the click of the lock.

Smiling slightly at his drunken accomplishment, he stumbled inside and managed to shrug off his coat before collapsing onto his couch and falling into a deep sleep.

**KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK**

Yassen woke with a start, managing to fall off the couch, when someone started pounding viciously on the door.

Feeling some-what sober, he glanced at the clock mounted on the wall and realized it was nearly one in the morning. Which must mean he had slept for three hours, give or take a bit.

The knocking, which had presumably paused when the knocker had heard the thump, resumed with renewed vigor.

Grumbling softly, the hung-over assassin pulled himself off of the floor and dragged himself to the door. He threw it open without checking who was behind it first, a dangerous habit of his, and was about to ask the intruder to, 'Kindly leave him the hell alone, thank you very fucking much.', when he came face to face with Alex Rider.

He had grown taller and slimmer, and his features had filled out and sharpened, leaving a gorgeous young man behind, but his golden blonde hair and those unmistakable deep brown eyes where the same, although they now held a haunted expression.

Right now, those beautiful eyes were bright with unshed tears, and the Russian had the urge to gather the slightly smaller body into his arms and never let go.

Forcing that thought out of his mind, he managed to find his brain again, just in time to hear Alex blurt out "I love you."

Yassen's brain immediately flew back out the window.

His first thought was to kiss the younger man, but reason quickly took over. He was at least ten years his senior, if not more, and not to mention there _jobs_. He had come out of retirement two years ago and rejoined a grateful SCORPIA.

"I do not care." He said emotionlessly, internally hating himself as tears leaked out of Alex's eyes and down his face.

Alex tried to compose himself, but gave up when he realized that Yassen was closing the door on him.

"Just give me a chance!" Alex begged shamelessly as he slipped into the hallway.

"No." Was the answer he got.

"Why not?" Alex asked hoarsely, nearly shaking from his repressed emotions.

"Because," Yassen answered, looking down at his nails in order to avoid Alex's heartbroken expression, "I don't feel anything, not for anyone. I simply do not care."

"That's not true." Alex whispered, and he jumped, not realizing how close the teen had gotten.

"You can feel pain." He told the him as he grabbed the assassin wrists and holding on so tightly he could feel the bones shifting beneath his skin, and he thought distantly about the bruise that would be sure to appear in the next hour or so when the hand moved.

Looking up, he was surprised to see a gun in those slender fingers.

That is, if he didn't die first.

"And you can feel fear." Alex said softly as he backed Yassen onto the couch and placing the gun on the coffee table.

He had barely touched the seat before Alex was straddling his hips. His breathe caught in his throat as luscious lips attached themselves to his jugular. They paused there for a moment, sucking and making Yassen's breath release itself in stuttered gasps, before traveling upwards and resting themselves to the left of his own lips.

"And you can feel lust." Alex mouthed against his skin before pulling back sharply in order to unbutton Yassen's shirt, letting his fingers trail playfully over his abdomen when he had gotten it off.

The older man groaned, composure beginning to break, when Alex slid down in between his knees and sat back on his feet, smiling coyly up at him, knowing full well what that look was doing to certain parts of his anatomy.

Still looking up, Alex unbuttoned the jeans and pulled down the zipper, and Yassen had just enough of his mind left to remind him to lift his hips up to help the young man pull them and his boxers down to pool around his feet.

Alex resettled into a more comfortable position on the floor, before finally looking away from the assassins piercing blue eyes and wrapping his lips around his aching cock.

Alex seemed to know exactly how to bring a man off, a thought that brought jealously with it and caused Yassen to pull harder on the younger mans hair, an action that seemed to be appreciated, if the moan it caused was anything to go by.

The teen pulled back in order to flick his tongue over the head of the older mans dick, and he felt the familiar pulling start in his stomach.

Gripping Alex's hair painfully tight, pay back for his bruising wrist, he bucked into the delicate looking mouth as he came.

Trembling with feeling, Yassen grabbed Alex's small hands and helped him up.

When he was standing, the older man rested his forehead against the last Rider's own head, and felt sudden, and ridiculous, giddiness when he realized they were breathing in the same air.

"I love you." He said gruffly, going cross-eyed from trying to stare into brown eyes.

"I know." Alex replied, just as cross-eyed.

Tentatively, all the former lust gone for the moment, Yassen stepped out of his pants and undressed Alex gently, letting his hands remain resting on his jutting hipbone, letting his eyes wander over his long legs and slightly curved waist for a minute before pulling back and smiling at his new lover before pulling him down the hall and to his bedroom.

They collapsed onto the large bed together, the picture of intimacy. Alex's head was nestled on Yassen's shoulder, and he had an arm wrapped around the younger mans thin waist. Alex twisted there legs together, and the two fell asleep in comfort.

A clock chimed and Yassen woke with a start, falling off of the couch.

Couch? He could have sworn he and Alex had fallen asleep in the bed.

Frowning, he got up a realized he was dressed. Had Alex redressed him _and _moved him before leaving?

He hurried down the hall and threw open the door to his bedroom. The bed was made and looked untouched.

Wrinkling his brow he was overcome by a frantic feeling.

_Maybe he left a note._ He told himself desperately, before tearing the sheets off of the bed looking for it.

He moved on to the kitchen after it was clear that there was no note, and was faced with the same results. He quickly went on to search the rest of the apartment, praying to the god he didn't believe in that Alex hadn't just fucked with his mind and left.

Not finding a single article of clothing or any initials carved into the paint, Yassen fought back uncharacteristic tears. He had been closed off from his emotions for so long, he had forgotten how bad the pain felt.

He pulled up his hand to wipe away the tears before they could fall, and nearly stopped breathing when he caught site of his wrist. There was no bruise.

He looked at his other wrist, figuring he had gotten them mixed up, and stared at the pale, bruise-less skin.

His over logical brain quickly sorted through all of the information, and as hard as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't avoid the now obvious.

_It had been a dream._

Yassen felt as if his own subconscious had betrayed him, and was suddenly filled with anger.

He stalked purposefully over to the coffee table and tossed it over, ripping into it like a starving wolf would to meat, although instead of eating it, he tossed it carelessly back on the floor.

Finished with his breakdown, he looked down at his hands, now throbbing pin cushions.

Staring at them, he imagined long fingers inspecting the damage and pulling out splinter after splinter.

Laughing bitterly at his own wants, he wondered how he could even think of the bitch who had reduced him to this, pulling apart defenseless tables and trying not to cry.

_Because you love him. _His mind supplied, as if making up for its bad behavior.

He chuckled softly before the full impact of the statement hit him.

_I love him._

He had hallucinated about Alex Rider in a drunken dream. Not a nameless face, but one he knew, respected, and, oddly enough, trusted. If that wasn't his brains way of telling him he was in love then didn't know what was.

Knowing he was in love, and with whom, he felt the urge to tell the object of his drunken fantasy how he felt.

During those first few moments, before reason took back over, he had made up his mind.

Minutes later, he was on the phone with a contact, and an embarrassingly short time later, he was on his way to pay one Alex Rider a visit.

He drove recklessly, and caught up as he was in long legs and gorgeous eyes, he nearly missed the address. It wasn't humongous, but it was large enough to comfortably house three SAS men, a grown spy, and a teen-aged spy.

Knowing what he was about to do would either get him killed or put in jail for the rest of his life, he went up to the door and knocked.

He suddenly thought about what he must look like, with wrinkled clothes, tear streaks, alcohol still on his breath, and splinters in his hands, but he pushed it out of his head.

He heard a deep voice on the other side of the door call "Cub, open the goddamn door!"**(1)**, and he briefly wondered if the man was always so loud.

But then the door opened and all coherent thoughts ran away.

Alex was standing in the doorway, beautiful eyes wide in shock, looking just as he had in his dream.

He couldn't help himself. He pulled the other man into a crushing hug.

Alex stiffened for a moment, but he must have sensed the urgency in the touch, because he started hugging back.

When Yassen finally pulled away, Alex reached his hand up to wipe away the tears that he wasn't aware he was shedding.

"We need to talk." Yassen said, somewhat dramatically. Alex turned to go back into the house, but he shook his head. "Alone. We can go to my place."

Alex hesitated before nodding his okay.

Yassen smiled brightly, freaking Alex out slightly at his emotions that he was expressing so freely.

He walked happily to his car, bidding Alex to follow him, and he opened up the passenger door for Alex, who smiled shyly as he got in.

Nearly running to the drivers side, he some how managed to wait until they both had buckled up before speeding out of the drive way into the night.

By the time the two got to his apartment, the sun was all the way up.

They walked in a companionable silence up the pathway, and when they reached the door, Yassen opened it with trembling hands, wincing when the splinters were driven further into his hand.

Alex saw the movement, and gently grasped his hands. And just as he had imagined, his love started pulling out the slivers of wood.

Suddenly, the thought that _this _might be a dream as well hit him.

He pushed Alex, who had just pullen out the last splinter, and punched him, not hard enough to break his jaw or anything, but hard enough to hurt like a bitch.

Alex's head snapped back with a resounding _pop_, and he staggered back, staring straight into his eyes with his own full of hurt and hate for a moment, and then whispered out "You bastard.", before turning on his heels and leaving.

Yassen stared at the ground and waited to fall off the couch.

Then he realized there was no way that the pain he was feeling was imaginary. It was too raw, and it beat in time with his pulse.

As soon as he had grasped that thought, he was jumping up and running around the block in the direction Alex had gone, hoping he hadn't called anyone to pick him up.

He caught a glimpse of an Alex sized silhouette leaning against a wall, and he slowed down.

"Alex?" He asked tentatively, touching the figures shoulder.

The shape flung around and attacked his mouth, filling his senses with _Alex_.

He stumbled back to the house, wrapped up in _Alex, _somehow managing to get back and into the building and in his bed.

He traced the small nose and around the deep set eyes, thumbing the eyelashes lovingly.

They undressed eachother slowly, taking in every detail and imperfection of the other, kissing and laughing and moaning the whole time.

Only a while later, as Yassen was entering him, slowly as there was only a pleasurable amout of stretch, did he realize they weren't having sex. They were making love.

Happy with this realization, he lent down and kissed the teen, swallowing his cries when he found his prostate.

Arching his back, Alex mewled in pleasure, and his muscles contracted _just_ so around Yassen, and he came, biting into Alex's shoulder as his esscence mixed with the younger mans and dripped down their thighs.

He pulled out, watching as Alex squirmed at the feeling of _empty_, and lowered himself beside him.

Smiling softly, he remembered how his dream had him fall asleep, and he arranged his and his new lovers bodies the same way before following Alex into a deep sleep.

Yassen woke a couple hours later, and smiled at the messy bed.

Following the scent of coffee to the kitchen, he found Alex dressed in one of his shirts that hung over his bare thighs, barely covering everything, and the word _Mine _flashed in his head, followed by an awed, _He's still here!_

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm not _that_ easy." Alex snorted, and Yassen started, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

He smiled again as Alex went to pour them both a mug of caffeinated drink, going on about something about how he was not a slut, no matter what Tom said, but he wasn't really listening.

He was busy being pleased by the fact that Alex was his, real, and here to stay.

And for the moment, that was enough.

**1. I wonder who THAT could possibly be...**

**Tada! Like? Or not? It's a little rusty, but while I was editing I was also trying to read a fanfiction where Patrick Stump was a trucker and he picked up a run-away Brendon Urie on his way to the trucking company, which was owned by the Way brothers. Which means it was all kinds of epic, and I got distracted. Sorry. Review, pretty please?**


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